


sometimes failure is a good thing

by Soriing



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing/pseuds/Soriing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t help but remember the events leading up to your painfully failed suicide attempt in striking clarity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fallen down

**Author's Note:**

> This is really personal, and I didn't even decide I was going to publish it until now, honestly. I really put a lot of myself into Chara whenever I write about this poor child. This is going to be a two-parter, probably. The next part will be much longer. Maybe.

You can’t help but remember the events leading up to your painfully failed suicide attempt in striking clarity. You lay in a bed of small golden flowers, your back sore and your leg _definitely_ broken and emitting a constant, dull pain.

 

You remember the fight with your parents. You told them you loved them, but it only ended with your mother screaming and empty glass wine bottles being thrown at your head. Your dad sided with her. It really was your fault she even felt the need to drink to escape you, now that you think of it.

 

And then you remember calling your parents over and over again after they stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind them and cursing you for being born. They never answered their phone. It really didn’t surprise you, but it still stung. Your face, wet from tears and blood, was also covered in snot that was slimy and drying in a crusty layer over your mouth and chin.

 

You don’t remember how long you spent pacing around, hysterical, but you do remember how the sun went down faster than ever before, leaving you in complete darkness in your small room. You also remember how you punched the mirror in the bathroom, grabbed a large piece of broken glass and cut deep into your wrists to alleviate whatever pain you could at the moment.

 

You feel the sting of tears in your eyes as you recall the blood trickling down your arms and falling in droplets onto the cold tile. If you could move without your body protesting with painful stabs to your ribs, you’d slap yourself, beat yourself until, maybe, just _maybe_ , you’d bleed to death and finally be done with everything.

 

Instead your mind keeps berating you for what led to this even more miserable existence you put on yourself.

 

Of course you didn’t stop at just cutting yourself as deep as your weak body could let you. You went and emptied the medicine cabinet of all the sleeping pills and painkillers you could reach. Your body had shut down pretty quickly, but not enough for you to die. You hated your sickly flesh-prison even more when you woke up to find that your parents still weren’t home and realized no one would even care if they found out what you’d done.

 

For some reason or another, you emptied your school bag and stuffed it with bandages and packages of dry ramen noodles, and you ran away.

 

 _Ran-_ that’s not the right word. No, you had _stumbled_ your way down the stairs and out of the door, your mind racing and your body pushing itself from collapsing from the amount of medication you took. You’re pretty sure you fell walking down the sidewalk, praying that no neighbors saw and would call the cops on you for running- stumbling- away from home. You didn’t even realize where you were until you made it to the top of Mt. Ebott, right in front a hole in the ground, too deep for you to see the bottom. You backed away in horror, at first, but then curiously leaned over to look down into the chasm. You should have wanted to leave, to live your life like a savage among the mountains, the way your friends and you would pretend before you moved. But instead you felt yourself drawn closer to the hole, almost heard someone calling your name.

 

And then you jumped in.

 

And now here you are, lying at the bottom of a hole so high you can’t see the roof of the cavern the hole resides in, with broken bones and an even more non-existant will to live. You think you screamed when you fell, but you’re not sure. You hope the stories were true and there were monsters under the mountain, so one could come along and kill you, so there wasn’t a chance of you surviving and dying alone in the dark.

 

You hear someone- some _thing_ gasp. Your mouth, despite your mind’s angry protests, lets words escape.

  
“Help me,” your mouth betrays, and you _hate_ how pathetic it sounds.


	2. ranunculus flammula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember what I said about this being much longer? Well, I'm a joke. At least I'm a joke that did my research before jumping straight into this after a few months.

You wish your swan song was different, but it happened like this: Asriel and his parents agreed to take you in while you were hurt if you agreed to actually let them treat your wounds. Then, for some reason, they let you stay after you were better, even treating you like their family. And then they noticed the dried blood seeping through your sleeves and pants, and you agreed to stop hurting yourself, if only for their sake. You _really_ wish you kept that promise, but you always wanted to be a hero.

 

Now, you lay on your bed, throat and mouth constantly dry, heart leaping out of your chest every second, and barely able to see past your calloused, pale hands at the pool of cooling blood staining your sheets. Your head is throbbing and you wouldn’t be able to concentrate if it weren’t for Asriel sitting in a chair he pulled next to your bed.

 

Now, you lay on your bed, Asriel trying to coax you out of the plan through his sobbing, slurred speech. Every time one of the Dreemurrs comes into the room to assist in some way, or spend time and just talk at you, you can only tell the difference by the amount of white that fills your vision or how much they cry when they’re with you.

 

“Aren’t you happy?” you barely breathe out audibly, forcing each word out of your ruined throat, effectively stopping the words tumbling out of his mouth. He sniffs, watery eyes glancing up at your own, brows furrowed and raised high on his forehead.

 

“What?” he asks, mimicking your hushed tone.

 

“You’re going to be free,” you say. It’s raspy and just as pathetic as the first time you opened your mouth and spoke to him, but you muster a weak smile, despite how stiff and cold your cheeks feel. “Everyone is.”

 

“But- what about you?” he chokes over the words. His hands shake in his lap.

 

Your smile falters, and you see with unfiltered eyes for millionth time that you really messed up again, but you cover it up with an even bigger smile to counter the tears threatening to fall. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“But I miss playing with you, Chara,” he sobs. You hate how his tears streak through his fur and make his eyes red and puffy, make him look weak. He looks much better with a smile. His large yet delicate hands press into his eyes, tears flowing from beneath his palms and down his wrists. “Everything was okay before this but- it’s just not fair!”

 

You close your eyes. Your throat burns and tightens, it’s dry and scratchy, and all the hate burning inside you cuts at the air in your lungs. You hate what you’re doing to him. You hate that he's crying because of you.

 

You try to tell him you’re sorry, that you love him, but all of a sudden you’re coughing up blood and you can’t breathe and you want to laugh and cry at the same time, unsure of what to do or how to think because this time it feels even worse than it has before.

 

Asriel shoots up from his chair beside you and screams for his parents as he rushes to the door, fresh, salty tears seeping into the carpeted floor. There's a rush of noise that gets drowned out with your vision, like thick, black ink spilling over a delicate piece of Asgore's parchment.

 

You can’t see, you can’t breathe, and you’re _sure_ you can feel the buttercups coming back up in a sea of burning, fiery bile, despite having eaten your last batch days ago. Everything is black, and you’re spinning in your bed, nauseous. And then you feel your head hit the pillows underneath you- hard- your limbs following suit on the stained mattress, over and over again until you feel warmth rushing through your body, and then you feel it all outside, and you’re left still and freezing, and all you can hear is how you _really fucked up_. You couldn’t focus for weeks until now, and all you can think now is how you’re dying and you’re dragging Asriel down, too.

  
Your mind is rushing and you know you’re dying, and everything feels so surreal, but you know it’s real because it’s so, so _painful_ , and your heart feels like it’s beating your chest with all the force it has left in it while it has a spiked club gripped tightly in its hands, and you _just want it to stop_ even though you know it won’t because _you’re dying_ and your body is throwing all that makes you yourself out, self-destructing in the process, and then you regret _everything_ now that there are hot tears streaming down your own cheeks, and you just want to say how truly _sorry,_ you are, so, so _sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,_  and all you can see is a spinning black void, and it’s cold and dark and so, so  _lonely._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. Here's my url if you need to talk to someone.
> 
> http://honeynut-yurios.tumblr.com/


End file.
